


Developments

by dvske



Series: Implicit [11]
Category: Transistor (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 17:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvske/pseuds/dvske
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn't be able to <em>talk.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Developments

**Author's Note:**

> Another old prompt I love.

He’s greeted by overwhelming red. A set of five orbs, evenly spaced apart, blinking in unison and iridescent in the mild lighting of Royce’s studio. Five orbs ( _eyes_ ) appearing abruptly in front of his face, just inches away, the moment he steps foot in the room. A looming form of metallic white, distinctly curved, hovers overhead as those eyes peer down at him with an almost childlike curiosity. A Young Lady, blocking his path and in no rush to move.

And Grant, composed despite the sudden hitch in his chest, swallows his discomfort. “Friend of yours, Royce?”

He hears the sharp way Royce sucks his teeth. Papers being shuffled. Distant footsteps, soon approaching. Annoyance in the man’s tone, though Grant senses it’s not entirely directed at him. “It’s alright, quite alright. Harmless, mostly. Though I _wish_ it would stop jumping in front of the door the moment it opens.”

Grant folds his hands behind his back, returning the Young Lady’s inquisitive stare with a hint of amusement coloring his own. “I didn’t realize I’d be intruding on you and your guest.”

“More study subject than guest,” Royce corrects, now at the Young Lady’s side. It cocks its head in his direction when he coaxes it out of Grant’s way, emitting a whirring coo. “I wanted to wrap up some preliminary notes. Thought I’d call it up for some more observations, some scans, and. Well.”

“Well?”

“It…doesn’t want to leave. Just yet.”

Grant grins at the exasperated expression on Royce’s face. “Perhaps she’s taken a liking to you.”

“Doubtful.”

`“Oh, Royce.”`

And both men pause at the rasping sound, at the words garbled up by static and a high-pitch, electric whine. Unmistakable words, chilling words, for there’s an edge to them. Both men pause and stare at the Process, at this Young Lady that continues to hover close at their sides. It blinks, slowly, in a way that seems less childlike, more ice. Royce narrows his eyes, matching the creature’s gaze. But his unease is visible.

Grant shifts away, ever so slightly. Settles himself beside Royce instead. “Did she just…”

“Shouldn’t have.” Royce, far quieter now. “Shouldn’t…be able to.”

“Ah…”

“Quite.”

`"Quite,"` the Young Lady echoes, and Grant swears he hears the thing _chuckling_ as it dips into a curtsy.

Playfulness, perhaps. But there’s something unsettling in its mannerisms, in the way it carries itself when it finally deigns fit to give the men their space and hover elsewhere. He and Royce watch as it drifts over to Royce’s desk and examines the contents scattered about. Both men, locked in their silence.

“New trick,” Grant finally mutters.

Royce shakes his head, eyes still trained on its ivory form. “Doubtful.”


End file.
